Drifting inside God’s vast, blue bloodstream,
Goodnight to thee, anthropocentrism—
Mitochondria choke-drown
in error’s blank stardust.

I am taking root now,
pressed between the Earth’s ragged furrows
and the warm, breathing sky.
From fountains of sweetest oud,
I rise, glistening green,
bathed in a warmth alive,
an ****** pulse of the older memory.

In it, the eye of the blind Beholder spies
seeds of a forgotten dream—
germinating,
dipping fingers into the river named
time.

Out of it,
a silent roar blooms:
a thousand aromatic oceans,
buds splitting into lavender pagodas,
trumpets framed in soft, sweet musk.
Rapture.

Sage, broad and leathery as an elephant’s ears,
curtains cascades of orange-blossom snow
that cool my sweat-drenched brow.

Tangled together,
wild ivy tendrils pull us under,
drawing heartstrings beneath
rosewater pools.
Breathless, we float,
ensconced in a crystalline
life-dream:
each moment’s petal
drooping lazily over the next.

Primordial whispering—wordless,
voice hums through roots and bones,
lifting, sinking,
settling into
soil shadows’ laughter,
older than light.